THE ISLAND IN THE SWAMP
The relief of thus being able to perceive each other and gain some view
of our immediate surroundings, after that struggle through darkness,
cannot be expressed in words. My first thought was for the girl, whose
horse I had been leading, but her eyes were no longer open and staring
vacantly forward; they were now tightly closed, and, to all appearances,
she slept soundly in the saddle. In the first shock of so discovering
her, I touched her flesh to assure myself that she was not dead, but the
blood was flowing warm and life-like through her veins. She breathed so
naturally I felt this slumber must be a symptom of recovery.
We were upon a rather narrow tongue of land, the two diverging forks of
the stream closing us in. So, after a short conversation, we continued
to ride straight forward, keeping rather close to the edge of the woods,
so as to better conceal our passage. Our advance, while not rapid, was
steady, and we must have covered several miles before the east began to
show gray, the ghastly light of the new dawn revealing our tired faces.
Ahead of us stretched an extensive swamp, with pools of stagnant water
shimmering through lush grass and brown fringes of cat-tails bordering
their edges. Seemingly our further advance was stopped, nor could we
determine the end of the morass confronting us. Some distance out in
this desolation, and only half revealed through the dim light, a somewhat
higher bit of land, rocky on its exposed side, its crest crowned with
trees, arose like an island. Tim stared across at it, shading his eyes
with one hand.
"If we wus goin' ter stop enywhar, Cap," he said finally, "I reckon thar
ain't no better place then thet, pervidin' we kin git thar."
I followed his gaze, and noticed that the mulatto girl also lifted her
head to look.
"We certainly must rest," I confessed. "Miss Beaucaire seems to be
sleeping, but I am sure is thoroughly exhausted. Do you see any way of
getting across the swamp?"
He did not answer, but Elsie instantly pointed toward the left, crying
out eagerly:
"Sure, Ah do. The lan' is higher 'long thar, sah--yer kin see shale
rock."
"So you can; it almost looks like a dyke. Let's try it, Tim."
It was not exactly a pleasant passage, or a safe one, but the continual
increase in light aided us in picking our way above the black water on
either hand. I let my horse follow those in front as he pleased and held
tightly to the bit of the one bearing Eloise. It had to be made in
single file, and we encountered two serious breaches in the formation
where the animals nearly lost their footing, the hind limbs of one,
indeed, sliding into the muck, but finally reached the island end,
clambering up through a fissure in the rock and emerging upon the higher,
dry ground. The island thus attained proved a small one, not exceeding a
hundred yards wide, rather sparsely covered with forest trees, the space
between these, thick with undergrowth. What first attracted my gaze
after penetrating the tree fringe was the glimpse of a small shack, built
of poles, and thatched with coarse grass, which stood nearly in the
center of the island. It was a rudely constructed, primitive affair, and
to all appearances deserted. My first thought was that we had stumbled
upon some Indian hut, but I felt it safer to explore its interior before
permitting the others to venture closer.
"Hold the horses here, Tim; let me see what we have ahead first."
I approached the place from the rear, peering in through the narrow
openings between the upright poles. The light was so poor I was not able
to perceive much, but did succeed in fully convincing myself that the
dismal shack was unoccupied. The door stood unlatched and I pushed it
open. A single glance served to reveal everything the place contained.
Without doubt it had been the late abode of Indians, who, in all
probability had fled hastily to join Black Hawk in his foray up Rock
River. There was no pretense at furniture of any description--nothing,
indeed, but bare walls and trampled dirt floor, but what interested me
most was a small bit of jerked deer meat which still hung against an
upright and the rude stone fireplace in the center of the hut, with an
opening above to carry away the smoke. I had found during the night a
fair supply of hard bread in my saddle-bag, and now, with this additional
gift of Providence, felt assured, at least, of one sufficient meal. I
stood there for perhaps a minute, staring wonderingly about that gloomy
interior, but making no further discoveries, then I returned without and
called to the others.
"It is all right, Tim, there is no one here. An old Indian camp, with
nothing but a junk of jerked deer meat left behind. Elsie, gather up
some of that old wood yonder and build a fire. Kennedy and I will look
after Miss Beaucaire."
It was bright day by this time, the red of the rising sun in the sky, and
I could trace the radius of swamp land stretching about us on every hand,
a grim, desolate scene even in the beauty of that clear dawn. We had
been fortunate enough to approach the spot along the only available
pathway which led to this little oasis, and a more secure hiding place it
would be difficult to find. The tree growth and heavy underbrush
completely concealed the miserable shack from view in every direction,
and what faint trail we had left behind us since we took to the water of
the creek would be extremely hard to follow. I felt almost at ease for
the present and satisfied to rest here for several hours.
Tim assisted me in unstrapping Eloise, and lifting her from the saddle,
and, as she made no effort to help herself, the two of us carried her to
a warm, sunny spot beside the wall of the hut. Her cramped limbs refused
to support her body, and her eyes, then open, yet retained that vacant
look so noticeable from the first. The only change was in the puzzled
way with which she stared into our faces, as though memory might be
struggling back, and she was vaguely endeavoring to understand. Except
for this pathetic look, she had never appeared more attractive to my
eyes, with color in cheeks and lips. Her hood had fallen backward,
revealing her glossy hair still smoothly brushed, while the brilliancy of
the sunlight only made more manifest the delicate beauty of her features.
Tim led the horses away and staked them out where they could crop the
rich, dewy grass. After removing the saddles, he followed the mulatto
girl into the hut, and I could hear the murmur of their voices. I
endeavored to address Eloise, seeking thus to awaken her to some sense of
my presence, but she merely smiled meaninglessly, leaned her head wearily
back against the poles and closed her eyes.
It was a poor meal enough, although it sufficed to dull hunger, and yield
us some strength. Eloise succeeded in choking down a few morsels, but
drank thirstily. It was pitiful to watch her, and to mark the constant
effort she was making to force the return of memory. Her eyes, dull,
uncomprehending, wandered continually from face to face in our little
group, but no flash of intelligence lighted up their depths. I had Elsie
bathe her face with water and while, no doubt, this refreshed her
somewhat, she only rested her head back on my coat, which I had folded
for a pillow, and again closed her heavy eyes. The negress appeared so
tired I bade her lie down and sleep, and soon after Tim also disappeared.
I remained there alone, guarding the woman I loved.
I myself had reason enough to be weary, yet was not conscious of the
slightest desire to rest. My mind did not crave sleep. That Eloise had
been drugged for a purpose was now beyond controversy, but what the
nature of that drug might be, and how it could be combated, were beyond
my power to determine. Even if I knew, the only remedies at hand were
water and fresh air. And how were we to escape, burdened by this
helpless girl, from pursuit, which, perhaps, had already started from
Yellow Banks? At all hazards I must now prevent this dazed, stupified
woman from ever again falling into the power of Joe Kirby. That was the
one fact I knew. I would rather kill her with my own hand, for I was
convinced the fellow actually possessed a legal right, which I could not
hope to overthrow. However it had been accomplished, through what
villainy, made no odds--she was his wife, and could only be released
through process of law. He could claim her, hold her in spite of me, in
spite of herself. No influence I might bring to bear would save her now
from this contamination. It would all be useless, a thing for laughter.
Her signature--of which Kirby had boasted--and the certificate signed by
the dead Gaskins, would offset any possible efforts I might put forth.
There remained no hope except through flight; outdistancing our pursuers;
finding a route to safety through the wilderness which they would never
suspect.
Where could such a route be found? In which direction was it safest for
us to turn? Surely not southward down the river seeking refuge at Fort
Madison, nor in the opposite direction toward Fort Armstrong. I thought
of both of these, but only to dismiss them from consideration. Had it
not been for this marriage, either might have answered, but now they
would prove no protection. Those men whom we were seeking to escape
would remember these points at once, and suspect our fleeing to either
one or the other. There was no power there able to protect her from the
lawful authority of a husband; nor could she deny that authority, if he
held in his hands the proof. No, I must find an unknown path, an
untraveled trail. Our only hope lay in baffling pursuit, in getting far
beyond Kirby's grip. For the moment I felt reasonably safe where we
were--but only for the moment. We could rest on this isolated island,
barely lifting itself above the swamp, and plan our future, but within
the limits of another day, probably, those fellows would discover signs
of our passage, faint as they were, and follow us. I dragged the map out
from its silk wrapping and spread it forth on the ground between my
knees. It was the latest government survey, given me when I first
departed for the North, and I already knew every line and stream by
heart. I bent over it in uncertainty, studying each feature, gradually
determining the better course, weighing this consideration and that.
I became so interested in the problem as to entirely forget her presence,
but, when I finally lifted my head, our eyes met, and I instantly read in
the depths of hers the dawning of recognition. They were no longer dull,
dead, emotionless, but aglow with returning life--puzzled, unassured, yet
clearly conscious.
"Who are you?" she breathed incredulously, lifting herself upon one hand.
"Oh, surely I know--Lieutenant Knox! Why, where am I? What has
happened? Oh, God! you do not need to tell me that! But you; I cannot
understand about you. They--they said you died."
"They must have said much to deceive you," and I bent forward to touch
her hand. "See, I am very much alive. Let me tell you--that will be the
quickest way to understand. In the first place I did not drown when the
boat was smashed, but was rendered helpless and borne away on the water.
I drifted through the darkness out into the Mississippi, and later became
caught on a snag in the middle of that stream. The _Adventurer_ rescued
me about daylight the next morning, and I was no sooner on board than I
was told how the keel-boat had been run down below on the river during
the night and that your party had all been saved--two white men and two
negress slaves. Of course, I knew you must be one of them."
"Then--then we were actually together, on the same boat, all the way up
here?"
"Yes; I tried hard to find where you were concealed on board, but failed.
I might not have helped you, but I thought you would be glad to know I
was alive. Kirby guarded you with great care from all observation. Do
you know why?"
Her wide-opened eyes gazed into mine frankly, but her lips trembled.
"Yes," she answered, as though forcing herself to speak. "I do know now.
I thought I knew then, but was mistaken. I supposed it might be because
I looked so little like a negress, but now I realize it was his own
conscience. He knew I was a white woman; he had become convinced that I
was Eloise Beaucaire. Did you know that, also?"
"I learned the truth on the boat, from the same source where Kirby
obtained his information. Elsie Clark told me."
"Elsie Clark! Who is she? How did she know?"
"A free negress, who had been employed by Amos Shrunk. She was the other
prisoner on the keel-boat when you were captured, kept locked below in
the cabin. Surely you knew there was another woman taken aboard the
_Adventurer_?"
"Yes, but we never spoke; she was below, and they kept me on deck. How
could she know who I was?"
"She did not. Only she was positive that you could not be Rene
Beaucaire, because she knew that Rene, in company with her mother, had
departed from Shrunk's cabin before those raiders came. The two had
already started for Beardstown."
She sat upright, all lassitude gone from her body, leaning eagerly toward
me, her eyes alight with interest.
"Gone! Rene escaped them!" she exclaimed, her voice choking, "Oh, tell
me that again. Was the girl sure?"
"Quite sure; she had cooked them breakfast and talked with Rene
afterwards. She saw and spoke with both the women before they left in a
wagon. They were on the Underground, bound for Canada, and safety."
"Thank God! Oh, I thank God!" Her face sank until it was concealed
within her hands. When it lifted again the eyes were brimming with tears.
"I am so glad--so glad," she said simply. "Now I am strong enough to
hear the rest, Lieutenant Knox. You must tell me."
"There is not so much to tell, that I am cock-sure about." I began
slowly. "Kirby had you securely hidden away somewhere on the second
deck, while this Clark girl had been locked into a stateroom above. I
possessed such a growth of beard and was altogether so disreputable
looking as to be mistaken for a roustabout by the boat's officers, who
set me at work to earn my passage. In this way I managed to talk with
Elsie, but failed to locate your quarters. The only glimpse I gained of
you was when you were being taken ashore. Then I followed, and a little
later succeeded in getting you out of Kirby's hands. That is about all."
"Oh, no, it is not--you--you came too late."
"Too late! Perhaps I may know what you mean."
"Do you? Surely not to blame me! I--I wish to tell you, Lieutenant
Knox, but--but I scarcely know how. It is all so dim, indistinct in my
own mind--and yet I remember. I am trying so hard to recall how it all
happened, but nothing remains clear in my mind. Have I been drugged?"
"Without question. We have been riding all night and you were strapped
to your horse. Probably you have no recollection of this?"
She shook her head in bewilderment, gazing about as though noting the
strange surroundings for the first time.
"No; the last I remember I was with Kirby and another man. He--he was
dressed like a minister, but--but he was half drunk, and once he swore at
me. The place where we were was a little shack in the side of a hill,
with stone walls. Kirby took me there from the steamer, together with a
man he called Rale--Jack Rale. They locked me in and left me alone until
after dark. Then this other man, who dressed like a minister, came back
with Kirby. They had food and something to drink with them, and lit a
lamp, so that we could see. It was awfully dismal and dark in there."
She pressed her hands to her head despairingly. "I can remember all
this, but later it is not so clear; it fades out, like a dream."
"Try to tell me all you can," I urged. "They fed you?"
"Yes, I managed to eat a little, but I would not drink. They both became
angry then and frightened me, but they did compel me to swallow some of
the stuff. Then I became dazed and partially helpless. Oh, I cannot
tell you; I do not really know myself--it seemed as though I had to do
just what they told me; I had no will of my own, no power of resistance."
"You were married to Kirby."
"Oh, God!--was I? I wondered; I did not really know; truly I did not
know. I seem to remember that I stood up, and then signed some paper,
but nothing had any meaning to me. Is that true? Do you know that it is
true?"
I grasped her hand and held it closely within my own.
"I am afraid it is true," I answered. "I know very little law, and it
may be that such a ceremony is not legal. Yet I imagine those men were
certain as to what they could do. Kirby had planned to marry you from
the very first, as I explained to you before. He told me that on the
_Warrior_ the night your father died."
"Yes, you said so; but I did not quite understand--he planned then--why?"
"Because he had heard of your beauty and that you were rich. Were these
not reasons enough? But, after he had mistaken you for Rene, the only
possible way in which he could hope to gain you was by force. Jack Rale
suggested that to him and how it could be done. The other man was a
friend of Rale's, a renegade preacher named Gaskins; he is dead."
"Dead! Killed?"
"Yes; we brought you away after a fight with those fellows. We left Rale
bound and Kirby unconscious."
"Unconscious, hurt--but not dead?"
"He had a bad gash in his skull, but was alive."
Kennedy, puffing happily upon a pipe, came loitering about the corner of
the hut and approached us. Eloise staggered to her feet, shrinking back
against the wall of the shack, her eyes on his face.
"That man here!" she cried in terror. "That man? Why, he was at
Beaucaire! He is the one to whom I claimed to be Rene."